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Chalysane

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Greetings.

3 min read

I am speaking to you from the end of time.


Or, more specifically, from the end of time up until this point. I haven't posted here in a while. To be quite honest, I rarely go here anymore. But that's fine in the end. Few were watching, fewer still will see, and eventually that inevitable silence will embrace this place.


But for now, this is still here isn't it?


With that in mind, I figure I should say something at least vaguely interesting. I've continued to draw. More than I ever used to at this point. And I stream while doing it. And I still write. I believe that some of the best work I've ever written was written on stream.


If I were to tell myself that I would still be here this many years later, I'd've cast doubt. I never quite had a penchant for art, after all. I'm far more suited to writing. And, to tell the truth - I actually have published works at this point.


It's fascinating to think about almost as easily as it is disappointing.


Because, in the end, all of my stories were just me trying to give life to an image I could not draw. A story that I wanted to show, but the images I could manifest failed to contain the wonder I felt. Concepts and feelings that should have been shown - but for my ineptitude, I could only tell.


Writing was only ever a substitute to me, whether I admitted it or not.


It was just a means to an end, even if the ends only barely justified the means. After all, I couldn't draw nearly so well enough to depict what I saw. That realm of artistry was forever beyond my reach. It was all I could do to stop thinking about it and do what I always did best - which was write. When in doubt, write. When frustrated, write.


But recently I got past it.


At the moment, I'm drawing a ninety page comic, and I've planned out a pretend opening sequence for a comic that I really love. I've already drawn a forty page comic, and several 4-11 page pieces. I've figured out how to manifest my writing as the imagery - if only basically so, and I keep dreaming of the day that I'll finally be able to turn around to the stories I've written before and be able to tell them "Let's give this another shot."


Hapless, embarrassing attempts at drawing - but made valuable by the stories I fight to impart upon those pieces. A practice session filled with pain and agony - for how badly I wanted to erase those flawed creations -


Only to hesitate as I saw a story take form just before the eraser touched base.


I am speaking to you from the end of time.


I have taken hold of a realm I thought that I could never reach. My writing - and now my artistry - have come together in the way that I never believed could have ever happened. And yet it has. And while everything still hurts - both from the frustration that stems from my lack of ability, and from the regret of the fact that I took so long to start -


I cannot wait to see the end result of these desperate efforts.

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Plans and such.

4 min read
I'm confident that anyone who reads this journal thing or lives in general knows what it feels like to plan something only to never do it in the end.
Like preparing for a certain convention that will more than likely be occuring in a few days.
Or maybe going home, promising that you're going to do homework, only to go surf the internet instead
Or coming up with the BEST idea of how to continue a story you're writing only to decide to play a game.

I personally find it hilariously frustrating. And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person who's gone through this.

I was told the other day to "live as if it were my last day alive". And I've been told that years before that day.
However, I only really understood it recently.
We all make plans for tomorrow and such, right? But what if tomorrow never came?
We've all had dreams about doing something really awesome, and we've come up with plans to do it, only to put it off. But what if tomorrow never came?
There are so many different series of anime that I want to watch. But what if the day came when I would never get to watch them again?
I have so many ideas for stories, and I've promised myself that I wasn't going to die (a huge boon against any thoughts of suicide) until I'd written them all down.
But what if I died by accident?

Every single day passes us by, but we never actually do the things that we really want to do. And of course we wouldn't. Of course we shouldn't.
If we always did what we wanted to do, nothing would get done quickly: Think of the people who exclaim "Yolo" before doing something dangerous.
But what if you had that idea for how to improve a story... What about that idea for the ultimate game, the most amazing piece of art?
What about that person that you swear to god you've loved him or her for how the deuce long, but you never worked up the guts to confess?
And then, all of a sudden, one day, you died?

I was told to live as if it were my last day alive. And I actually understood it for once.
But I don't live like it anyway, still doing the same monotonous things I've always done.

I can't help but wonder: What about those series of anime that I've never watched?
If I suddenly died, who would come to my funeral?
What would someone think if, one day, they came across the stories I've written, never actually finished?
What about the pieces of artwork on my wall?
What about the dolls on my bed, the one random nendoroid placed next to a coffee mug filled with pens and pencils?
What about that binder that I cherished so deeply, tattered as it is, filled with handwritten text?
What about that shelf that had one level -just one- filled with manga?
What about the letters that I'd randomly written to people?
What about the 3DMG that I built by hand, so tirelessly worked on only to fall apart after use, and promised to be repaired?
What about the tertiary corrections to What Could Have Been?
What about the pencils that constantly hang from my collar, people always saying that it's "dangerous"?
What about that computer that sits in my room, a four terabyte drive filled with videos, pictures, and text from the internet because I was afraid of losing it?

What if, one day, I had suddenly died, whatever the reason may be?

To think I live like I always do, mindlessly going about my daily business, never doing what I really want to do...
And yet I still ask these questions, and promise that I'll finish my stories before I die.
And to think that I never ask: What the heck am I doing?

Plans and such.... eh. Just do stuff for gods sakes. That'll accomplish so much more.
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Chronic.

1 min read
Frankly, I should probably get back to working on it.
But it's been going soooooo slowly..... ugh.
This is what happens when you step away from something for a day or two.
Or break a routine.
ugh. I'ma play Rune Factory.
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Peoples, if you ever read this, I accidentally wrote an appropriately rhythmed poem.
I've never written a Rhythmed poem before! +flipping out
I've only ever written free verse, but, all of a sudden, I wrote a 5/3 beat poem. By accident.
Okay, it doesn't maintain that rhythm throughout the entire poem, as it deviates to 3333 and 5555 and other variants like that at times...
But it's all either 5 or 3 beats per line.
I'm flipping out, you have no idea.

I'll post it soon x3
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Poetry and such

3 min read
A while back, I used to write a lot of poetry. Then again, it can't really be called poetry because of the way that I had it styled. I never followed any real format of poetry, nor did I rhyme anything. All I basically did was section up stories I wrote.

Regardless, I'm still immensely proud of what I used to do.

Since my latest poem (I don't remember what was the most recent: It was likely the end to my Extended poem "Cosmonaut"), I've written nothing in the terms of poetical sense, so to speak: Most of my literary ability has been dedicated to writing stories.

To date, I've probably written, collectively, at least 40 seperate poems. I don't think I'm likely ever to write one again, though. But, heck, if I do, I won't be giving it any slack: I'll make sure it is just as good as the poems that I used to write, and with the same sense of criticism that I provide my current stories.

Speaking of my current stories...

I have a character sheet. This character sheet is detailed with six basic details of the characters. With this character sheet in hand, I have collected about two dozen (maybe more) characters for which to use in my most extensive story ever: Existia.

This story will likely be the one that I carry with me to the grave, though, as it's typing down has stalled by a bit. It's quite developed in my mind, though. I'm happy that I've got at least that much: I only know one other person who carries a story around in their mind, and that person is the person that inspired me to start writing.

In other news, I have written and finished one other story, "What Could Have Been", and it is currently in the editing stage before I send it off to a publisher. Of course, it has been in this stage for at least... Hmm.... One or two years. xD I've been lazy~ =w= I should probably finish it off, though ^^"

And I also have one more idea for a story: It only exists in storyboard, and isn't nearly as extensive as existia. However, if I ever write, finish, and publish this story, then I will die. Period. So I should probably hold off on writing that story xD

But back to poetry. Recently, I looked at one of my old poems: The 21-Gun Salute. It was part of a series of 12 poems, short stories, and etc that I wrote in the situational concept of a war. I used that poem in my most recent short story, which goes by the same name. I'm proud of both, and both can stand alone.

If you want me to write something, just tell me. Writing is fun.
Same for drawing. I need to learn to draw better. I've made a little progress in recent times.

Until next time~! x3
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Featured

Greetings. by Chalysane, journal

Plans and such. by Chalysane, journal

Chronic. by Chalysane, journal

Accidental Poem. by Chalysane, journal

Poetry and such by Chalysane, journal